


you thrill the soul

by sweatshirt



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Drug Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Graffiti
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweatshirt/pseuds/sweatshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1970s AU; Lucas is a folk music fan who just moved to NYC from Texas. Maya is a graffiti artist from the wrong side of the tracks (not that there’s a right side of the tracks). It’s the most dangerous time in New York’s history-- in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are about 16-17 in this fic, but Lucas is still new to the city. The era this is set in is 1977-1979.
> 
> I'm @mayaharty on tumblr :)

Zay spots the officer first. He shakes the base of Maya’s ladder, and she almost loses her balance. She looks back down at Zay, about to threaten the kid with serious bodily harm, and notices his scared expression. 

“Cops,” he mouths.

With that, Maya turns from the wall that she's painting and practically jumps off the twelve-foot ladder, stumbling to the ground. She stuffs her aerosols into her grimy old backpack; one container rolls away, and she curses under her breath. There goes a week’s allowance. She leaves it there, and the two of them run to the other side of the courtyard. 

Maya wishes she had better endurance. She’s skinny, and spry, and good at fitting into small spaces, but she’s always been more of a sprinter than a distance runner. It’s why she’s been caught by the police more times than a kid her age should’ve been.

 

That, and she’s a criminal. 

 

Zay and Maya never have a plan. They escape the cops. They dodge subway trains. They do it any way they can. 

Sometimes that recklessness means Maya is nearly killed by a bicycle. Today is one of those days.

The guy brakes a second before hitting Maya, but she still stumbles backwards onto pavement. Her backpack cushions the fall.

The boy stumbles off his bicycle and rushes to her side. Zay runs to her as well. 

“Are you okay?”

Zay shoots him a glare. “I was going to ask her that.” 

Maya sits up slowly.

“Nothing’s broken,” Maya tells Zay, then she turns to the biker. “Still gives me the right to knock your teeth in for doing that.” 

The bike boy’s eyes are big and blue and caring. He exhales sharply. “I’m sorry. Real sorry. Can I buy you a Coke or anything?” Maya tilts her head in annoyance. “What?”

“As an apology. I don’t know, I’m new here, maybe it’s a Texas thing.”

Zay looks over his shoulder. There’s no sign of police, and Maya knows that if she can't see them, they’ve given up for the day. She’s safe. Sort of.

“Alright, Cowboy. I’ll take that apology Coke.”

 

Of course, Zay ditches her as soon as Maya and the boy enter the deli. He checks his watch and makes up something about having a curfew of seven-thirty, and just leaves Maya alone with a possible serial killer. 

Maya’s not sure why she hasn’t left this guy yet. All he did was almost hit her with his bike, but she's curious about him. 

Maybe it’s the way he buttons up his long plaid shirt, like he’s a catalogue model from ten years before. Maybe it’s the little smirk he has when he tells her his name is Lucas Friar. Behind the square, white-bread appearance, there’s something undeniably interesting about Lucas.

They share egg creams and life stories at Kornberg’s Delicatessene—one of the authentic delis, run by third generation German Jewish immigrants. The radio switches from some classical Spanish guitar to a song by KC and the Sunshine Band. Lucas wrinkles his face in earnest disapproval. 

Maya notices it. She raises an eyebrow.

“So, you’re a Ranger Rick, but not a mindless disco lover.”

Lucas chuckles. “I actually do have taste.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Favorite records?”

“Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie. I know it’s kinda old now, but it’s all I’d listen to growing up.”

Maya hums, adding another piece to the Lucas Friar puzzle. “You’re a hippie pacifist from Texas?”

“Not a hippie. And I don’t think I'm a pacifist. If it means doing the right thing, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

There’s a long pause as they stare at each other. They're the only two sitting at the deli counter. Every word feels louder and more important. 

“Since you’re such a radical, wanna hear what I was doing before you crashed into me?”

Lucas shrugs. “Sure. It wasn’t… heroin or anything?”

“God no.” She hates his choice of words. Maya now has uncomfortable flashes of her dad, staying out late nights at clubs with strange names and coming back with impossibly dark eyes. She clears her throat, and shows Lucas the contents of her backpack.

“I’m a tagger. I paint anywhere people might see—alleyways, abandoned buildings, subway trains.” She gives Lucas a wicked smile after that last one, waiting for the look of horror on his face. There are always questions from concerned adults and teens alike— _what about the law, what about vandalism, what about getting killed?_

Lucas surprises her. He doesn’t ask her any of those things.

Instead, he leans forward. His eyes are serious, but the corner of his mouth twists into a smirk. 

“Take me with you next time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lucas Friar, bicycle rider and Texan transplant, disappears from Maya’s life for the next three weeks.

Maya doesn’t do much tagging in that time, either. It’s hot, even for August, so she spends the remainder of her summer vacation lazing around the Lower East Side.

When her friends realize it’s the last weekend in the long summer, they pile onto the subway and go to Coney Island. Maya has a brief moment of disappointment when she doesn’t see her signatures on the side of the car. It must've been cleaned.

The five of them sit on the boardwalk, drinking soda and warm beer. Maya sees a boy on the beach with sandy blonde hair and tan skin, walking towards her and Farkle. She pokes Farkle in the arm.

“I know that guy,” she whispers.

Farkle tries to see where she’s pointing, but the boy is almost out of view. She lays her head down on the boardwalk, wondering if Lucas was just kidding when he asked to join her graffiti adventures. And wondering why she cares so much.

“Maya,” Farkle says, waving his hand near her face. He’s wearing a turtleneck even in the 80 degree heat. “People are trying to walk here.”  
She briefly reconsiders the life choices that led her to this very moment.

“Oh, how I love the first day of school,” Maya snarks to Riley. Their lockers are side by side for the third year in a row. Maya swears that Mr. Matthews bribes the principal to keep them that way.

“Come on, Maya,” Riley says. She’s wearing pigtails and her classic optimism. “This year’s going to be so much fun. And so much work.” Her sunny face disappears and Riley looks horrified. “So much work. I just remembered that this is the eleventh grade.”

“So how much do you love the first day of school?”

Riley groans, and opens the door to class. Mr. Matthews is their teacher, for the third year in a row. If it’s not due to some weird arrangement, it’s the craziest coincidence.

Another crazy coincidence: Lucas Friar is sitting in the second row.

“Hey,” Maya says, walking over suspiciously. “You go here?”

He notices her and a glint appears in his eye. Lucas nods.

“You know this guy?” Riley whispers over Maya’s back.

“It’s a long story,” Maya replies.

She turns back to Lucas. “This is Riley Matthews, my best friend,” Maya says, and squeezes Riley’s hand. 

Riley smiles politely at Lucas in return, but her confusion is still evident. “And Riley, this is Lucas Friar.”

The class is almost full. Maya has no choice but to sit in front of Lucas.

 

After the first day, which is predictably boring, Maya catches up with Lucas in the alley outside the school.

“You kind of blew me off, Hopalong,” she says non-chalantly. Her Keds are tapping against the concrete.

“I didn’t get your number or address,” he says.

She shrugs. “It’s fine.” (It’s not exactly fine.) “I just like pulling people into the life of crime. Especially Huckleberries like you.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow, and leans against the brick wall. “Sounds dangerous,” he says in a low voice. There’s a teasing tone there, and Maya sways closer. “It is,” she tells him. 

It’s the second time Maya’s been close enough to Lucas’ face to see his individual eyelashes and freckles, and she doesn’t want to pull away just yet.

That day’s lesson about magnetic pulls—Cory was talking about magnets in history class, for some reason – comes back into Maya’s mind.

She stares at Lucas, and he stares back like he’s known her for his whole life, instead of two days.

“Show me how you paint,” he says softly. A part of Maya’s heart flutters in a way she’s never felt before.

 

“There are these things called tags,” she explains while the pair waits for a train to pull in. “Every graffiti artist has them. It’s a few letters, sometimes with numbers. You write them in a certain way and… it’s like a fingerprint.”

Lucas is quiet when he’s listening. He’s not shy, but Maya quickly realizes that he only talks when he has something important to say. After being friends with Riley and Smackle and Farkle and Zay, Maya can appreciate that in a conversation partner.

“What’s your tag?”

“Heart 1.”

She waits for him to say something, even laugh at her. But Maya knows she can’t predict Lucas Friar’s behavior. He just hmmphs and looks down the tracks. “I think there’s a train coming.”

Maya confirms Lucas’ statement. She unzips her backpack, and rushes over the tracks to the train’s edge when it stops.

“Mind the third rail,” she calls over her shoulder. But Lucas is already behind her. He watches with awe as she quickly uncaps an aerosol can and outlines a figure.

Maya works fast with her tags. She always has.

“Nowadays, the trains pull away in like, fifteen minutes. So I gotta be even faster.”

Lucas hands her whatever color she needs, amazed at how many containers she can stuff into such a small bag.

“Done,” she says, and beams at her creation. Lucas squints his eyes to avoid the glare of the setting sun. He reads the letters one at a time, excited when he realizes which is which.

“It’s like a language,” he marvels. “Only some people can speak it.”

“So I taught you something,” Maya jokes as they walk away from the subway yard and back to the bustling streets. “I’m a better education than any public school.”

Lucas chuckles. “Yeah. You are.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lucas sits at their lunch table, and the moment his butt touches the seat, he’s officially a member of their group. “Welcome to the Clique Six,” Zay says proudly, stretching his arm around Farkle and Maya. They squirm out of his touch. “Stop,” Maya teases him. 

Lucas immediately hits it off with Riley and Zay, because they’re the two members of the group (or Clique) who actually care about sports. Lucas soon learns to worship the New York Mets. He gets along as well as could be expected with Farkle and Smackle.

As summer becomes fall, Maya continues to whisk Lucas away to the world of street art, Queens punks, and Bronx hip hop dancers. Sometimes Zay will join them, mostly for the purpose of making sarcastic comments about their ‘undying love for each other’.

His words. Maya doesn’t know what the hell he’s on about. She and Lucas are just friends, the way Riley and her are just friends, or Riley and Smackle, or Farkle and Lucas. Also, Maya asked out that Stephen Gartenberg kid to the Sadie Hawkins dance—she wouldn’t have done that if she liked Lucas. He’s not even her type. He would never like her.

Maya’s spent a lot of time thinking of reasons why Lucas isn’t her boyfriend.

 

One night after a particularly close call with the law, Maya finds herself standing in front of Lucas’ apartment. His window is open, and he spots her.  
“Come up,” he calls. The air is just slightly cold for the middle of October, and the wind nips at her cheek. She could use a warm coffee. So she climbs the stairs of his walk-up.

Lucas doesn’t live in a nice house, but he doesn't live in a shabby apartment. It’s incredibly middle-class, something Maya has never really known. Her friends are either millionaires (Farkle) or dirt poor (herself, Zay, everyone else.)

His parents aren’t home. Maya’s used to that, and she can tell that Lucas is too, though hopefully for different reasons. Middle class means a mom who cares, and a dad who isn’t lying in a gutter with puncture holes in his arms. 

It’s a nice way of living.

Lucas seats her on the couch, and covers them both with a shag blanket. His brow is furrowed. They turn on the television to see Happy Days on the screen. Lucas fakes a laugh but he is quiet, too quiet.

Maya’s not the comforting type but she has to ask: “What’s wrong?”

“My mom is cheating on my dad,” Lucas says. 

“What?” Maya’s voice feels small inside her chest. 

“I found out last week. He doesn’t know.” Lucas stares straight ahead, not looking at Maya. He sounds like he’s holding back the floodgates of tears. Just barely.  
“Are you going to tell him?” She looks up at his eyes—green, but dark now—for unspoken permission to hold his hand. He finally turns to her, and she takes his palm in her own. Maya traces designs on his skin with her index finger—mostly her graffiti tag. Heart 1. 

“I have to. I will. But right now, Maya…” Lucas sighs deeply. “I just want to fight.”

“Vietnam’s over,” she mumbles. Behind them, the audience roars with laughter at the Fonz’s goofy antics.

“Not that way,” he says. He shakes his head. “I don’t do that.”

“No, I know. I get it. I have other ways of fighting. Without even throwing a punch.”

He keeps his gaze squarely on her face. “Show me.”

 

Maya leads him into his own mother’s bedroom. His body tenses up. “What are you doing,” he says, less of a question than a threat.  
“Getting something of hers.” Maya rummages around his mother’s drawers and pulls out an expensive looking white blouse. “You think she would miss this?”

“Probably,” Lucas says. He stays in the doorway. Maya hums in satisfaction and leads him back into their family office. She pulls a Sharpie marker out of her pocket. 

“Write your own tag,” she tells him, and hands Lucas the marker.

He sputters. “Maya, I’m just not an artist.”

“Even Bucky McBoing Boings can do graffiti. Just think of a word, and maybe a number, and write it like it’s your name.”

Lucas exhales and uncaps the marker, sticking the Sharpie cap between his teeth. It’s a quirk, but Maya finds it really cute. He concentrates for ten minutes, and Maya gives him silence. Finally, he shows her the blouse, now ruined with marker stains. 

“Huck13,” Maya reads. “Huckleberry and 13th street?”

Lucas nods, a faint smile on his face.

“Vandalism feels strangely good.” He claps his hands together. “Now what?”

Maya shrugs. “Throw it out, I say.”

He chuckles. “How is any of this helping me feel better?”

“Because you’re smiling. And hey, she deserves it.”

When Maya leaves, Lucas grabs the shirt and walks to the banks of the East River. He throws it in. He doesn’t look back. 

 

 

Maya meets up with Riley one November morning in the park. Like stereotypical New Yorkers, they eat bagels and watch people and Maya feels at ease with the universe. She’s missed Riley, though she doesn’t know why that is. It’s not like Riley’s gone anywhere.

Maybe Maya’s the one drifting away.

Riley seems to read her mind. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lucas,” she says after Maya mentions his name in passing. Riley’s tone isn’t accusatory. Just matter-of-fact.

“He’s a friend,” Maya says, and clasps her hands together awkwardly. She’s finally accepted the fact that she’s friends with a bonafide cowboy. 

“Pretty close friend, huh?” Riley’s voice is coy. She looks over at Maya as she takes a bite of bagel and lox. Maya shrugs.

“You know, it’s okay to have feelings for someone.” Maya raises an eyebrow, vexed. She should’ve remembered that Riley was the type to play matchmaker when her own love life wasn’t satisfactory.

“Huh? I have feelings for lots of people. All sorts of feelings.”

Riley crosses her legs. “Hmm,” she says, in an annoyingly un-Riley tone. Maya sighs deeply and throws the rest of her bagel to the pigeons.


	4. Chapter 4

Most shops are closed early on Thanksgiving, but not Kornberg’s Deli. 

Maya finds solace in the neon signs in the window and the huge pastrami sandwiches. She sits at a plastic table, dangling her legs. 

“Mind if I join you?” A familiar voice. Maya looks up to see a very familiar face. 

She shrugs, smiling at Lucas. “I was waiting for some more interesting company, but you’ll do.”

Lucas chuckles. She can’t forget that Kornberg’s was where they went the first day they met. And he’s here with her now, on the most unlikely day of the year. If she were Riley, she’d see this as a sign from the universe that Lucas is her soulmate of all soulmates. Of course, she and Riley are different. The past few months has cemented that. 

Maya Hart has nothing if not a strong urge to run at all times. 

“Let’s not stay here,” she tells him. 

She grabs his hand, and he holds on tight.

They run to the East River bank, and sit on a park bench. The sun is long gone, but there’s still traces of lighter blues in the sky. The details of Lucas’ face are still visible. 

Maya rests her head on Lucas. She’s too tired to care about not acting like boyfriends and girlfriends. She just needs a shoulder to lean on. Like that stupid song says. 

“I ran out of my door,” he tells her in the near-darkness. “It was the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. I couldn’t take it, my mom just acting all innocent. And my dad was in denial, acting like we’re a family. We’re not!” Lucas’ voice raises in volume and pitch as he speaks. His fists are clenched. He exhales deeply and reaches for Maya’s hand again. “Not anymore.” 

Maya wants to tell him about the inside of her apartment right now, with her dad “back home” but still a million feet away in the clouds. And her mother’s exhausted—she didn’t even have the energy to cook a turkey. They’d ordered Chinese takeout, and when Maya told them she was going out for a walk, her mom only nodded. Like she had that urge to run too.

She doesn’t say anything, though. She knows Lucas just needs someone to listen to him. 

They both need each other. Two kids sitting by a polluted river because in that moment, they’re the closest thing they have to a home.

“Attention ladies and gentlemen. Tickets are now on sale for the Winter Ball.” The students in Maya's Algebra II class chat excitedly about dates. Lucas catches Maya in the hall after the period ends. He leans against the locker next to Maya’s. 

“So, are you going to this Winter Ball?”

She closes her locker and leans against her own locker, facing Lucas. He's wearing a blue plaid shirt today. “I never do,” she says nonchalantly. She taps her foot—she has a feeling where this conversation is going, and it’s making her nervous. 

“But maybe this year… could be different.” His hand inches closer to Maya’s hand, and she swears the air around them is charged. 

“Just as friends,” she hears herself say. It’s dumb, dumb, dumb. She wants anything but that.

“Just as friends,” he agrees enthusiastically. “It’s not like it’s prom.”

They smile at each other shyly until the bell rings for sixth period. Lucas gives her an awkward hug goodbye and sprints to his English class. 

Maya remains in the hallway, her entire world spinning. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

It’s snowing like hell after school and Maya goes home right away for once. The icy weather makes the lock sticky, and it takes her a few tries to open the door. When she does, she walks inside to see her dad slumped over in the hallway.

His chest is rising and falling—she ensures that right away. But her father’s body is slack, and his skin seems off-white somehow. Maya shakes him, trying to wake him up. He coughs several times, color returning to his face. Then he vomits right onto Maya’s lap.

She closes her eyes, feeling warm tears build up. Maya holds his head up so that he doesn't choke. After a minute, maybe five, her father seems like he’s doing better. Maya gets up and heads to the bathroom, stripping off her soiled clothes for a shower. Her one prayer is answered—the water is perfectly hot. Maya stands under the shower-head, quietly sobbing.

She can't do this. The sort of girl who has to wake her dad up from a near overdose, the sort of girl who has to clean up all his messes, that’s not the sort of girl who can go to the Winter Ball. That’s not the sort of girl who can give Lucas Friar what he deserves.

When she’s dry and dressed, Maya walks to the kitchen to call up Lucas and cancel on him.

 

 

Lucas isn’t mad at her for cancelling. At least, not the kind of obvious anger. They still hang out. One weekend, they bike over to the West Side and walk around the West Village shops. Lucas makes sure to remind Maya that just twenty years ago, the neighborhood was home to the greatest poets of all time. He never tells her where they all went—probably lost to the same demons that took Maya’s father.

They go into a clothing shop to escape the cold. It’s a relic from the hippie days, with insane patterns and old clothes. Lucas buys Maya a crazy wool hat and fixes it on Maya’s head.

“My prince,” Maya says in a funny accent. Lucas chuckles, sneaking looks back at her while they walk home.

“Is Riley going to the Winter Ball?”

Maya stops in her tracks, nearly leaving skid marks on the sidewalk. “Why?” Her voice sounds angrier than she means it to be. “I mean… why?”

Lucas furrows his brow. “Well, if we’re not going together… As friends… I was thinking of going with Riley… as friends.”

His hands are in his jean pockets. Lucas stares at Maya, waiting for a response.

“Oh. Sure.” She puts on an old fashioned radio announcer accent. “No reason why that shouldn’t happen.”

Lucas walks towards her.

“Are you, um, jealous?”

Maya laughs. “No. This is all between friends. It’s all good.”

Lucas bites his lip slightly. He’s staring right at her, and Maya’s helpless not to stare back. “Between friends,” he says softly. Maya feels his hands on the side of her face. He pulls her hat up slightly, so her eyes are more visible.

She would ask what he’s doing, but she knows.

They kiss in a New York City alley, as powdery snowflakes begin to fall. Their noses brush against one another, and his breath is warm in the cold air.

They separate after a while. Lucas lets out a nervous laugh.

“So. That happened,” he says. His cheeks are bright pink.

Maya reaches forward to kiss him again, but he steps away.

“I'm sorry-- I like you, Maya. I just, I have to go.”

Just like that, he walks away, carrying Maya's hat with him.


End file.
